


bury me shallow

by LonelyGirlInSpace



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt Nott (Critical Role), Hurt/Comfort, Nott (Critical Role) Needs a Hug, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 08:26:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18442781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyGirlInSpace/pseuds/LonelyGirlInSpace
Summary: An alternative to the fight in episode 55. Caleb Widogast is charmed, and instead of waiting for the rest of the party to walk into an ambush, he decides to take out the overly trusting and vulnerable goblin girl not even paying attention to him in the chamber.





	bury me shallow

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Caleb hits Nott with the fireball while she's vulnerable, and then has to live with the consequences. TW for some violence and gore, mostly fire-related. Nott temporarily dies instead of Caduceus this time.

“Caleb! It’s a dead end here, and there’s water. I can’t go in; I need you—come!”

Nott whispers her harried message into the wire, hoping she doesn’t come across as frantic as she is, still peering up and around at the ceiling. There are no traps, she’s fairly certain of that. She knows she’s missed lots of them in the past (a certain paralytic box springs to mind, and she shoves the memory away) but this is a cave, anyways. The demons hadn’t exactly been expecting their attack, and likely weren’t expecting the Mighty Nein to follow this quickly, either. She’ll be very surprised if they’ve managed to lay any less-than-obvious traps at all. 

“Ok, coming,” comes Caleb’s mild reply. He’s seemed a little put off by her attitude the past few days, but there’s little she can do about that. It’s taking everything she has to even stay this calm, what with everything going on. He’d expressed, earlier, that he’s growing worried by her increasing recklessness, but that, too, is a matter to be addressed another day. The last thing she can afford right now is hesitance—not if she wants to save her husband  _ and  _ keep all of these idiots who keep following her for  _ whatever reason _  alive, too. 

She can hear the echo of Caleb’s soft words to the rest of the team, presumably relaying the situation, and then subtle footfalls approaching her. He’s trying to be stealthy, that much is clear, and considering Caleb’s usual clumsiness, it’s really not a bad effort. Jester doesn’t agree, clearly, if her shout of, “I can see you!” following him down the tunnel is any indication. 

Nott steps forward, peering into the small body of water before her. She’s confused, for a moment, when she sees no reflection blinking back at her, but then remembers her spell is still up.  _ All the better _ , she can’t help but think. Her ugly green skin, her horrible yellow eyes—she is not a picture to inspire confidence, exactly. 

She turns as Caleb enters the chamber, his coat as shoddy and mud-splattered as ever. He looks around, his eyes passing right over where she stands, and he holds the wire to his mouth. A moment later, she hears his voice in her head. 

“Nott, what part of this chamber are you in?”

She huffs, part impatience, part amusement, and hastens to reply. “The water  part . Right in front of you. I’m waving my  hand,  can’t you see me? I'm  _ literally  _ jumping up and down.”

She grins at her own joke, and doesn’t miss the small smile that rises to Caleb’s face as he says quietly, “What do you want to do?”

He’s still looking around, and she rolls her eyes fondly. Slipping the wire back into her pocket, she calls out into the open air, figuring stealth is a lost cause anyways. “Hey! I’m over here! Follow my voice!”

He does, and as soon as he’s close enough, she tugs at his sleeve. He jumps a bit, then smiles for real as he looks down at wherever he presumes her to be. He’s only off by a few inches, and she counts it a success. 

“Where’s everyone else?” she asks, peering back towards the tunnel as she just now notices the lack of additional footfalls. 

“I,  er , I told them to wait a moment,” he replies, and shifts his attention back towards the chamber, scanning it for any sign of a threat. She stiffens, panic rising in her throat. 

“No, you can’t be here by yourself!” Nott hisses, knowing he cannot see the alarm that must be written all over her face. She’s not enough to protect him,  surely  he’s caught on to that by now. If something attacks, she doesn’t know if she’ll be good enough to save him! “You’re puny and weak!”

She doesn’t really mean it as an insult, the many times she’s said it, and he never seems to take it as such. He pays little heed to her now, instead staring blankly at some point across the cavern. She follows his gaze, but sees nothing except rock and stone. 

“Caleb, are you ok?” she asks, hesitant. Maybe he does take offense. Maybe he’s mad at her now. Maybe he’s just realizing how stupid it was to follow her down here, to follow her at all. 

“So good,” he murmurs, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he tears his gaze back to Nott, and she feels a bit of the fear in her chest loosen. If he’s well enough to be sarcastic like that, then he’s probably fine. “ _ So  _ good.”

Still. Something seems a bit off. “Can we—should we call the others,  or..? ”

“No, we’re good,” Caleb says absently, and she frowns. He’s usually overly cautious, the quickest to call in backup in any situation. Something seems wrong, even as he continues to reassure her. “We,  er , I think we’re alright. I think this is...”

He trails off, nodding to finish his statement, and she looks him up and down once more. Her instincts are telling her something’s off, but who is she not to trust Caleb, after all he’s done for her. She acquiesces. “Oh. Well, if you think we’re ok, I guess we’ll just... wait here, then.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and she pushes back the feeling of unease that keeps trying to shove its way into her mind. 

Nott hesitates for a long moment, and then decides, well,  s he’s been meaning to tell him about this, anyways, and it certainly couldn’t hurt anything to test the waters. Unless, of course, he decides he hates her after this. But. Well. That would be his prerogative, anyways, so. 

“Caleb,  er , while we have this moment,” she begins quietly, turning away. She knows he can’t see her, but she doesn’t think she can confess this while looking at him. She feels bad, having hidden something like this for so long—particularly after the revelations that came in  Felderwin . “Something’s been bugging me, Caleb.”

She steps away, along the waterline, speaking more to the ground than to her friend. “I figure, while we’re alone, now’s as good a time as any—”

She gets no further before she hears his voice, murmuring a... familiar spell. She turns to look at him, wide-eyed, about to ask him  _ What is it, Caleb, what do you see, why are you casting such a powerful spell in such an enclosed space _ —

And then, a blast of scorching fire is sent rushing for her face. 

She thinks, had it been any of the others, she could’ve dodged. She’s good at that, after all. It’s a rogue thing, Jester tells her, her uncanny ability to avoid taking a full hit. But she sees the emotionlessness in Caleb’s eyes as he stares in her general location, as he makes the motions and mutters the words, and she finds herself rooted to the ground. She can’t move. 

It’s like the fire giants all over again. The instant the flames touch her skin, she cannot focus, and the invisibility drops away. This is worse, this is so much worse, because as she’s blown back from the roaring heat, she can see the way her garments smolder and burn, and she can see the way her skin sears and bubbles, flesh raw and pink and exposed and horrific, even worse than the hideous green. 

It’s agony. She can feel her flesh broiling, her hair singing away. She thinks she screams, but she cannot be certain. It must only be seconds, before the fire dies away, but it feels like eons. She is on the ground, trembling, burning, weeping. Everything hurts, and it takes more willpower than she knew she possessed to look up and see Caleb approaching. 

She thinks she would prefer anger. She thinks she would prefer hatred, or contempt, or even disgust, in those her boy’s crystal blue eyes (her boy, her boy, _  her boy _ ). Anything would be better than this cold, disaffected emptiness. She could draw her crossbow, in these moments, as he steps closer, but she doesn’t. She won’t. She cannot hurt him, even now. 

She catches a flash of pink in her peripherals, hears a distant, tinkling laugh, and understands. Even as he approaches, so much taller than her, especially when she’s crumpled on the ground like this, she forces herself to smile at him. Bares her ugly, sharp,  _ goblin  _ teeth in the best approximation of a comforting smile that she knows how to do. Tries to convey her love for him in her eyes. 

Says, “It’s ok, Caleb. I know this isn’t you. I forgive you.”

She doesn’t even attempt to roll out of the way as he lifts his hand again. She only has time to close her eyes, to hope that when he comes back, he won’t blame himself. She just catches the panicked cries from their friends entering the chamber as another blast of fire consumes her, and everything goes dark. 

.

.

.

The moment he’s  close  enough, his mind is beset upon. 

He comes at Nott’s behest, because he would follow her anywhere. She is his family, and he loves her, and the moment she tells him to come, he does not hesitate. He pauses only long enough to explain to the others what is going on, and then he goes to her. 

She’s seemed distant, these past few days. Not really with them. Like her heart is already in some prison cell far away with  Yeza , and she’s just trying to catch up with it. His friend, normally so clever and thoughtful, rushes in and attacks before she does anything else. 

He doesn’t blame her, of course. He cannot even begin to imagine the things she has suffered. His past, his sins, they are unimportant. She was a good, lovely person with a good, lovely family, and she was torn from it through no fault of her own. He brought his suffering upon himself. She has never deserved what fate has delivered her. 

So  he supports her. He cannot convince her to stay back, to be rational and cautious, but he can protect  her.  He can follow where she goes, and destroy what stands in her way, and that’s what he does. 

When she tells him to come, he  goes.

But here, now, as he follows her voice, tries unsuccessfully to keep the little smile from his face at her antics, the moment he comes close enough—he is ensnared. 

Suddenly—suddenly, none of that is right anymore. He doesn’t know why he was thinking all of that, when it is clearly not true. He thinks of the way Nott snarled when they first met. He thinks of the time Beau threatened to beat him, of the time Fjord held a blade to his throat. He thinks of all of the times he has been hurt in the name of this group, and he thinks,  _ Traitors _ . 

He has been gone from his post for a very long time, and he doesn’t think he regrets  that.  But he has not, even after these years, forgotten what he is to do to traitors. 

Even as he murmurs half-thought-out responses to the little goblin at his side, he thinks about betrayal, and he thinks about punishment. When Nott’s voice starts to walk away, just slightly, he turns, and he murmurs the evocation. In one hand, he holds the components; in the other, he aims at where he heard her voice last.  

_ Good boy _ , purrs a smooth voice in his ear, as he releases the spell and sets the thing that used to be his closest friend on fire. 

She screams as she is thrown backwards, immediately made visible in the wake of his attack. Her dark curls singe off, and the smell of first burnt hair, then quickly burnt flesh permeates the air. The bandages on her forearms singe off, and the flesh beneath boils. 

He watches the carnage with something like satisfaction, and listens to the hissing praise that fills his hearing. He steps forward, watching the goblin burn, watching as she looks up at him, eyes filled with tears, and bares her teeth. 

Were  she still his friend, he might count that a  smile.  As a traitor, it only is what it is. He begins to say another spell, hand raised as he releases the components back into his pocket. A smaller spell will still finish her off. He pays no mind to the sounds of investigative yells from down the passage, the rushing footsteps hurrying to intervene. He is single-mindedly  focuses  on eliminating the threat directly in front of him. 

He holds the spell. Prepares to unleash it. Just before the flames leave his hand, he hears her words. 

_ “It’s ok, Caleb. I know this isn’t you. I forgive you.” _

His spell blasts forward, and she is wreathed in flame once more. She isn’t even conscious long enough to scream out again. 

“No!”

“Nott!”

“Caleb, what are you doing?!”

Caleb turns, looking at the newcomers. He recognizes them, of course. For weeks now, he has called them ‘friend’. It’s a mistake. He never should have trusted them, should’ve know that they were only waiting to betray him. He sees the fury in their eyes, the weapons they brandish at him, and his feelings are only affirmed. 

Much of the battle is a blur. He spent on e  of his highest spells on Nott, which he does not regret, but it makes fighting the rest of them more difficult. He weaves magic into the air, determined to show no mercy in his eradication of these traitors. He sees the clerics try to make their way towards Nott, and decides that them saving her before he can kill them all will do no good. Clutching the components in his hand, he waves his arm, and erects a wall of fire that splits the room in half. 

It is not until later, after the incubus appears with a giant fiend in tow, and the succubus reveals herself to the room, after Caleb takes a blade through his abdomen from a furious  Yasha , that he comes back to himself, and everything is made clear. 

His friends—and they are his friends, this is so clear to him he doesn’t know how he ever could’ve doubted it, even under magical influence—do not stop fighting. They cannot, or everyone will be killed. He drops the wall of fire, in shock, even as  Yasha  withdraws her blade and presses her hand against his wound, quickly casting a small healing spell that soothes the ache. 

“Sorry,” she says quietly, and he can only stare at her in horror and hope the sentiment is echoed in his gaze. 

It is all—so clear to him, now. He remembers everything, and he feels disgusted at himself. He backs up, pressing his back against the stone cavern wall, and looks over at where—at where—

She is so small, and for a moment, he panics, terrified, because he cannot see her chest moving up and down. For a moment, the entire world freezes, and then he sees the faintest tremor in her far-too-still form. She’s alive. She’s still alive. He staggers towards her, heedless of the clash between the fiends and his friends behind him, grasping at his pockets to find the healing potion that must be there, it has to be, he knows she gave him one because she does things like that, his kind, selfless friend who thinks far too much of him—she gave him a potion ages ago, he has to still have it. 

He checks every pocket on his coat, once, twice, and comes up empty. He’s properly panicking now, but she is counting on him. He moves to searching through her coat pockets instead, and wants to sob with relief when he finally, finally, finds the small red vial that can save her from the damage inflicted at his hands. 

He reaches for her, wanting to pour the potion in her mouth, wanting to protect her and shield her and make everything he did to his closest friend and ally disappear. Before he can—before he can pop the cork from the vial, before he can save her, the smell of ozone fills the air. He knows what’s coming, makes to dive towards Nott, cover her small injured body with his, if he can, but it comes too fast. 

The lightning strikes the ground near his feet, and he is blown back, towards the wall. His head slams into the stone, and for a moment, the world goes blurry. He shakes his head, trying to force his vision to come back to him, and the moment it obeys, he searches for his small friend once more. 

This time, when he crawls towards Nott's crumpled form, frantic, her chest does not so much as twitch. 

He’s not paying attention, when  Beau  strikes the final blow to finish the fight. He doesn’t watch as she shoves her  fist directly into the chest  of the giant fiend, doesn’t look even as she screams in rage to match the beast’s death throes , quite literally yanking  its  still-beating heart from its body . He is preoccupied, cursing his shaking hands as he twists the cap from the vial. 

 She is so, so small, as he frantically pours the  potion  down her throat. He pulls her onto his lap as he does it, careful to keep her head steady so as not to waste a drop of the precious, life-saving liquid. When it’s empty, he tosses it aside, peering down into Nott’s blank face, erratically stroking her hair he searches for any sign of life. 

There is none. 

“No, no, no  no no no ,” he mutters, patting her cheek in a way reminiscent of his desperate attempts back in the tunnels, back when the giants had attacked and her foot had slipped, back when she’d been carried towards their clerics, burning and bleeding. (The difference is, these wounds are not a result of a river of lava—they were brought upon by his own hands, his hands that do nothing but destroy everything he comes into contact with; the difference is, she was gasping and quaking and alive, then.)

He hovers his palm over her chest, leans his head over her nose. No faint heartbeat thuds against his fingers; no weak breath ghosts over his ears. 

“Nein,  nein ,  nein ,” he chants now, carding his fingers through her hair even more desperately, now. He looks up, sees the rest of the group approaching. He makes no semblance of calm or rationality—instead, he looks to Jester, so uncharacteristically somber, and swallows. 

“Please,” he whispers, cradling Nott’s limp form. He can feel the tears springing forth from his eyes, dripping onto  the  precious bundle he cradles in his arms. “Please, just—bring her back.”

“ Of course  I will, silly Caleb,” she says, smiling slightly, but it’s not the joyous thing it usually is. She is somber, even as she hurries to pull her diamond from her bag, and places it above Nott’s body. Caleb doesn’t stop clutching her, doesn’t stop petting her hair, like maybe, if he holds tight enough, he can tether her here. 

“Please, travel e r,” Jester whispers, closing her eyes as she places her hands above Nott. “We’re supposed to be saving her family,  y’know ? Bring her back, ok?”

There is no audible response, but an impossible breeze flutters through the chamber, the source unclear, and a golden light begins to emanate from Jester’s hands, spreading out and illuminating the diamond on Nott’s still form. Slowly, the diamond absorbs the glow completely, until it shines with the radiance of the sun, illuminating the entire chamber. It hovers, just above Nott’s heart, and then, in the space of a single breath, shatters into thousands of pieces. 

For a moment, Caleb’s mind jumps to the worst possible conclusion: the spell failed, the diamond is destroyed, his last chance at rectifying his horrible mistake is gone, his best friend is dead at his hands—then the dust from the diamond settles, seeping into Nott’s heavily marred body. 

She glows for a moment, light pulsing beneath her skin. Every member of their party seems to hold their breath for an impossibly long moment. 

Then, the light fades, just as Nott sucks in an enormous breath. 

The relief is palpable in the very air. Caleb vaguely registers the elated exclamations from most of the group, only having eyes for one person. 

Nott looks confused, disoriented, her eyes wide and wild as she stares around her, taking in every detail of their surroundings. Her gaze darts to Caleb for just a moment—then he pulls her still-prone form to his chest, clutching her tightly. He doesn’t try to contain the sobs that wrack his chest, and he doesn’t hide the pure relief when he feels her tiny claws, hesitant, wrap around him in turn. 

“I , I  thought you were  gone ,” he chokes out, squeezing slightly, and then he immediately pulls back, searching her over, when she lets out a small whimper of pain. 

“I’m alright!” she squeaks, as quick to reassure him as she always is. “I’m ok, see? Just a little scraped up, but I’m alright!”

“Can you heal her further?” Caleb asks, turning to face Jester. She’s crouching by them both, wringing her hands, and her face falls at  Caleb’s  question. 

“I can’t,” she says, frowning. “That fight was like, really tough, you know? I’m all out of spells.”

“I’ve got a couple to spare,” Caduceus says, nudging his way towards the front of the group. They sit, waiting for a few seconds, as he murmurs a complicated incantation, and then a warm golden glow settles over everyone. Caleb feels his wounds—paltry, compared to the damage inflicted on Nott—knit together, until when he absently reaches a hand down to trace over the spot where  Yasha’s  sword had pierced him, he feels nothing but smooth flesh. 

More importantly—far more importantly, Nott looks much better. She’s still burnt, still wounded, flesh still pink and raw in places where it should be green, but she no longer looks on the verge of dying ( _ again _ , his mind supplies unhelpfully,  _ that would be dying again, because she just died, you just killed her— _ ). 

He pulls her into another tight embrace, burying his face in her shoulder and trying to calm himself with the feeling of her, warm and safe and  _ alive _ , against him.  “I am so sorry,” he murmurs, trying to focus on the sound of her breath, her heartbeat, all of the little things that indicate she is still here. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t stop saying it, even as she gently pats his cheek, even as she says in return, “It’s alright, Caleb, I’m alright, I’m alright.”

He feels a gentle nudge on his shoulder, and looks up to see Beau  glaring  down at him, arms crossed. 

For a moment, when she opens her mouth, he thinks she is about to scorn and ridicule him—perhaps cast him out, for what he’s done, perhaps even simply kill him with her bare hands , just like she had with the fiend . He cannot deny that he would deserve it. 

Instead, she says, “Hey,  wanna  give the rest of us a turn? You’re hogging the goblin, man.”

This pulls a small smile from him, and he pulls back, away from Nott, just in time to see her face turn crimson at Beau’s words. 

“You, asking for a turn at expressing physical affection?” Caleb says softly, offering a teasing grin up to Beau, even as he allows Nott to step away from him. “Why, Beauregard, I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Shut up,” Beau says, and her words lack their normal bite, likely because she’s too busy tugging Nott towards her chest. She squeezes Nott in a hug so hard it almost looks painful for only a few seconds before she releases her, and offers a gentle punch to Nott’s shoulder. Beau straightens, avoiding everyone’s gaze. “Real glad you’re alright, Nott.”

“ Awwww , Beau, that’s so sweet!” Jester wails , as she wraps Nott in her own tight embrace. Nott is still blushing, even as  Cadeucus  gives her a hearty pat on the shoulder, and Fjord ruffles her hair with a deep sigh of relief, and  Yasha  just gently touches her forehead and gives her a soft smile. Caleb watches the affection pouring down on the small goblin girl, and he feels his heart thudding painfully in his own chest. 

“Really, guys, I’m ok!” Nott squeaks finally, her green face bright red, partially hidden beneath the bandages and the hood and the claws she’s pressed against her eyes in a futile attempt to assuage the flush. “Others were hurt too, y’know! You should, you should focus on them! Plus, we still need to check out this portal stuff, right?”

This distracts the team for a little bit, as they search the bodies of the fiends scattered about the chamber. It takes all Caleb has to take his eyes from his little friend, so relieved is he to see her up and moving and bright again (even as the image of her falling, of her burning, of her eyes closing and the spark fading as she is struck down by his hands, his _  filthy,  _ _ treacherous _ _ , murdering hands _  plays en repeat in his gods-cursed perfect memory).

They find a small book, weathered and water-damaged but still readable, after Caleb casts a ritual spell to comprehend the unfamiliar language. It details all of the plans of the portal the fiends were building—a perfect piece of evidence to present to the Lady. The artifact, humming with a latent magical energy that none of them are quite sure how to turn off, is a confirmation of everything the book says. The rubbings are just icing on the cake. 

Caleb doesn’t feel quite right letting the artifact just—sit there, allowed to hum and work its magic, not quite  _ on  _ but certainly not disabled, so they stick it in the lead box, and hope that will prevent it from doing anything too disruptive. 

Beau gains a pair of new, better bracers, that finally give her a decent ranged attack. Caleb identifies their properties for her willingly, and is even coaxed towards a small smile at her sheer excitement. The others find small things adorning the bodies of the fiends, before they finally shove them off into a corner and leave them be. Caleb sets up his bubble on the opposite side of the chamber, irrationally hoping distance from the beasts might help his companions sleep more restfully. 

When he sits, he fully expects Nott to avoid him. Sure, she’d comforted him. Sure, she’d hugged him back and reassured him that she’s alright, but  surely  she cannot be entirely unaffected by his being near. His mind was not exactly his own, that much is true, but he still killed her. He used one of his most powerful spells and tried to burn his best friend to ash. Surely, some part of her must fear him, now. 

Yet, as he takes a place leaning against a thick stalagmite, prepared for the first watch, knowing that the images haunting his brain will not let him sleep too easily, she crawls towards him. Surprised, but pleased to be able to monitor her in the night, he smooths out a section of his coat over the ground, a silent invitation if she chooses to accept. She doesn’t even hesitate before curling into her customary ball at his side, her head pressed firmly against his thigh, her back towards the elements. Caleb reaches out to stroke her hair as she settles in, and she lets out a contented sigh. 

Still—it is almost a half hour before she’s able to keep from fidgeting, and her breathing finally steadies out. He can tell, already, that this will not be an easy night for her. His heart aches at the little furrow he can see in her brow. He wants nothing more than to reach forward and press his thumb against the wrinkle until it smooths out, and she can get the rest she deserves, but he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t notice Beau moving across the bubble to sit down on the same side Nott is on until she’s already there, and he forces the start of surprise away, so that he doesn’t wake Nott. 

Beau glances at him, then fixes her gaze on Nott’s tiny sleeping form . Normally, she is somewhat of an enigma to him, harsh and scowling and hard to read. Right now, though, he can tell what she’s thinking clear as day. Perhaps it’s just because he’s thinking something similar, but he sees the affection shining in her eyes as she rests a gentle hand against Nott’s back, not enough pressure to wake her. 

There is a long moment, where Caleb watches Beau watch Nott, and neither of them say anything. Nott mumbles something  unintellig i ble  in her sleep, shifting slightly, and Beau sighs. 

“You really scared the shit out of me, dude,” says the monk, meeting Caleb’s eyes directly. She has never been one to shy from eye contact, their Beau, and he tries his best not to look away, even though he kind of wants to. 

“I am sorry,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else he could possibly say in this situation.

“I’m not looking for apologies, man,” Beau says, rolling her eyes. “I know it wasn’t like, actually you. I’m just... trying to share my feelings on the matter, ok? You scared the shit out of me. She did, too.” She nods at the sleeping goblin resting between them. “Just like. Putting that out there. For you to know.”

Caleb looks at her critically, tilting his head. “I am... not sure I follow, Beauregard.”

“Fuck,” Beau huffs, leaning her head against the rock behind her. “Why is emotional bonding so fucking hard?” 

Caleb waits, still unsure of what exactly she’s trying to tell him, but he knows she’ll find the words. Communication has never been easy between them at the best of times, but damn it all, they both keep trying anyways. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say, is, uh.” Beau scratches her chin, and now it’s her who won’t meet Caleb’s  gaze.  “All of that shit scared me because I care about you, you know? You and Nott. I love you guys, and you going all batshit, and her, like, fucking dying and shit. That scared me. Want you to know that. And, also, if there’s anything you  wanna , like, I  dunno . Talk about? I guess? To me, or, uh, whoever the fuck? Yeah. I just... yeah.”

“Oh.” Caleb takes a moment, trying to gather his discordant thoughts into something coherent. He’s... not sure, really, that he wants to talk about it, and if he did want to, he’d probably feel most comfortable talking to Nott. But, at the same time, that’s not really an option this time, considering. He knows he’s a shitty person, but burdening her with  _ his _  guilt and feelings when  _ she’s  _ the one who  _ actually died _  would make him even shitter. He won’t do that to her. 

So  he clears his throat, somewhat awkwardly, and continues to card his fingers through Nott’s hair, trying to focus on the familiar feeling instead of his feelings as he says, quietly, “I thought. I thought it had happened again.”

Beau nods, understanding, and Caleb once again marvels at the way she seems to genuinely  _ get  _ things she should certainly not be able to relate to. “Watching, uh, watching the people you love most go up in flames.”

Caleb fights not to wince at the bluntness of the statement, and has to check to make sure the rest of the group is still truly asleep before he responds. “Yes. Yes, that, and... and at my own hands. Of my own doing.”

“Besides the fact that, like, neither of them  were  ‘of your own doing’, but yeah. I get it.”

“But they—,” and here, he has to cut himself off, make sure to watch his volume. Somehow, conversations with Beau always end up frustrating him. He swallows, checks to ensure he can speak calmly. “They were both of my own doing, Beauregard. It was... It was my spell, both times. Cast from my own hand.”

“Oh, physically, sure, yeah, that was you, I guess,” says Beau with a shrug, as if it doesn’t feel like Caleb’s just been punched in the gut by her bluntness, again. “But mentally? It wasn’t you.” Beau snorts. “Fuck, Caleb, even if I hadn’t  know  you for months—like, a week in, I knew you’d rather kill all of us and then yourself than hurt Nott.”

“I would never kill all of you of my own will,” says Caleb, somewhat alarmed at her implications. She rolls her eyes again. 

“No, yeah, I know that, dude. I’m just saying. We can all see how much you love her.  _ She  _ can see how much you love her. She knows it wasn’t you.” Beau pauses again, staring thoughtfully at the opposite wall as if she’s choosing her words carefully. She sighs, long and heavy, and then slaps a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. It startles him, a bit, but he manages not to jump, in fear of waking Nott. 

I’ve forgiven you, Caleb,” Beau says seriously, and her voice is as abrasive and low and rough as it always is, but somehow, it sounds... softer. Kinder. “She’s already forgiven you, too, Caleb. And I know you still blame yourself for your parents, and nothing I say is  gonna  change that, but. That wasn’t your fault. And neither is this.  So  don’t beat yourself up over it.”

She looks away awkwardly, dropping her hand. “I guess. Yeah. That’s all I really wanted to say.”

“Danke,” whispers Caleb, and that’s that. 

(If, in the morning, as they’re readying their supplies and preparing for the day ahead, Caleb subtly gives Beau’s arm a grateful squeeze when no one is paying attention to them, Beau doesn’t comment on it. If she’s a little more handsy and free with her affectionate shoulder punches with him throughout the day, well, he doesn’t say anything either.)

(If Nott notices all of this, and smiles to herself each time it happens, then, well. It doesn’t really matter either way, does it?)

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't get this idea out of my head since I watched the episode. Sorry not sorry I'll take any excuse for more angst between my favorite goblin rogue and her trashy wizard BFF. Throw in a little angry blue monk, and it's perfection.   
> Comments and kudos are always very much appreciated!!
> 
> (... to anyone following my other work im sorry the current chapter is kicking my ass and ive been thrust into a new fandom so I've been procrastinating all of my WIPs for CR one shots...im sorry....)


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